The Other Mrs Possible
by Rye-bread
Summary: I've done fic's based on Ivymae's pix.  Here's one based on Ivymae.  The story of Slim's wife and Joss's mom.
1. Chapter 1

I gotta be outa my head; starting another fanfic while I have so many incomplete.

Over at Deviant Art, when one artist admires another, they portray them in their work. In the past, I have written fanfics based on this artist's pix. Now I want to write one based (very loosely) on the artist. I do not claim to know the mind, heart, or life of the artist, except what she has shared with us. I hope I do her justice.

I took a small unofficial poll at Dev Art: does Slim's wife /Joss's mom appear in any K.P. episodes, fan art, or fan fiction. The answers were no, no, and no.

Folks, that's jest not right. So, y'all gather 'round while I spin a yarn. It's a story sweet and sad, a tale of happiness and heartache, a tale of the glory and grief of love: the story of the other Mrs. Possible.

(Disclaimers: Nana, Slim, and James Timothy belong to Disney. Information about the bitterroot was found at Montana dot plant-life dot org. My grandparents met at a dance in a one-room brick schoolhouse, and each knew from the first moment that the other could be it. The lady's first name belongs to her.)

_**THE OTHER MRS. POSSIBLE**_

Mom Possible was proud of both her sons Samuel Nahum and James Timothy. She called them her Old and New Testament. She had even picked their names out of the Good Book. She had simply opened to the contents and chosen from the names of the books. Each name had its own cadence, its own ring; but for little James Timothy, "Samuel Nahum" was quite a mouthful. It sort of came out "Slim", which rhymed with "Jim", so it was all good. They grew up Slim and Jim, and to each other they were Slim and Squirt.

Slim and Jim both excelled scholastically: in high school Honor Society, class valedictorian, in college the dean's list, graduated magna cum laude, multiple doctorates: applied physics, rocket engineering, etc. Like older brother, like younger brother.

Slim, though, had itchy feet. Whereas Jim had gone the traditional staid middle class way: marry a lovely russet-haired med student, settle in a split-level house in the small bedroom community of Middleton, Colorado, become a research scientist at the Space Center, and started a family, Slim went the way less traveled. He joined the rodeo circuit. "A drifter, tumbling tumbleweed, a saddle bum with a few PhD's," he called himself.

It was a strange sight. A rough-and-tumble, tough-as-leather, rawboned man, corralling horses and bulls by day, hunched over his laptop by night, downloading images from the Hubble satellite, text-messaging with a German mathematician, or an Indi physicist, or an Egyptian chemist, or a Thai robotics engineer. And yet it was not so strange. He taught his fellow wranglers how to e-mail, set up a webpage, download MP3 files, and burn a CD.

The tumbleweed drifted his way up to Montana, the Big Sky Country. One night, in Thornbush River, a little town with about a dozen inhabitants, more or less--and a little church, a tavern, and a hardware-granary bin-saddlery-general store--he happened upon a genuine Saturday Night Social in the little one-room brick schoolhouse. It had the works: a side of beef turned on the spit outside, and the man with the fiddle called the square dances inside.

There was fresh-squeezed apple cider, and out in back, a few jugs of homemade hooch that the old timers passed as they gathered 'round the bonfire and told ribald stories. There was laughter and dancing and neighborly warmth. It drew Slim like a magnet. He had polished his boots until they shined. He had bathed, shaved, and even put on a dash of cologne. He had put on a freshly pressed shirt, and combed his wiry hair and drooping moustache. He stepped through the door, hung his hat on a peg, and looked about the room. Someone caught his eye--and his heart jumped like a bronco.

If she took off her shoes and stood on her bare feet, she might be all of five feet tall. She wore a dress of cotton, so white it looked like snow, so white it hurt the eye. Her arms were bare to the elbow. The sleeves were puffy. The hem of the skirt, sleeves, and neckline were lacy, like snowflakes. She twirled while she danced. The dress flared, and petticoats showed under the skirt.

The song "The Yellow Rose of Texas" described someone whose "eyes shine like diamonds; they sparkle like the dew." This was Montana, not Texas, but this little flower was as fresh as a daisy and as sweet as the fragrance of lilacs in spring.

"Lord Almighty," Slim said to himself. He nudged a man near him. "Who's that girl over yonder?"

"Her? She's old Josef MacDonald's." And he pointed to a squarely built stolid looking man across the room.

Slim's heart fell; she was spoken for.

But the man continued. "But don't even think about takin' a shine to her. Josef sets great store by her. He's powerful protective of his only daughter."

Daughter? Slim's spirits shot up. But that father...

Josef MacDonald was short and round, like a boulder. He looked rock-solid--like a boulder. He wore a denim shirt, bib overalls, and a flannel overcoat. On his bald head was a battered old felt hat with the brim turned up. On his face was a fierce walrus moustache. For a bare moment he reminded Slim of Frosty the Snowman: "with a corncob pipe, and a button nose, and two eyes made out of coal." A corncob pipe was indeed gripped tight in his hard mouth, but there was no mistaking him for a friendly snowman, a "happy, jolly soul". Frosty black eyes scanned the room, and any man who dared look at his little girl for more than a second could feel the stern glare.

But the girl--a sweet little button nose, dimples on her cheek when she smiled--which was all the time--dark brown hair, the color of finished mahogany, like Mom Possible's old dresser, cut in a short bob, to the nape of the slender neck--and a pink bitterroot blossom behind her right ear.

Slim knew the lore of the flower. Every true Montana-bred did. It was a wildflower, a perennial that grew on the hillsides. The plant was hardy. It could live for a year without water. it was catalogued by the Lewis & Clark Expedition in 1805. It was adopted as the Montana state flower in 1895. In spring, when the plant bloomed, the Native American tribes gathered in the Bitterroot Valley to dig up the root. When cleaned, dried, cooked, and mixed with meat, it was delicious and nutritious. It was popular with both the Native Americans and pioneers. It was a valuable trade item; one sackful could be equal in value to a horse.

Slim watched carefully. No man had the nerve to come near her. She chose her dance partners. The girl had sass--and spunk. She squared-danced like a ballerina might dance, with grace and lightness of foot.

The man next to Slim smirked. "Just don't sing--or hum--'Old MacDonald Had A Farm' around him." He added cautiously, "And for sure don't let him catch you staring at her."

Not stare? How could he not? She was the sweetest thing there!

She did a double-take when he entered the room. She couldn't take her eyes off him. He towered over every other man there. His boots were so polished that it hurt the eyes. He wore a bright red western style shirt with pearl buttons. A turquoise bola was 'round his neck and a turquoise buckle on his intricately tooled leather belt. He took off his wide-brimmed Stetson and she saw hair longer than hers curling on his collar. Piercing dark eyes, bristling eyebrows, eagle nose, thick drooping mustache, strong chin; he was a son of the plains. He was the image of Wyatt Earp, Wild Bill Hickock, and every other folk hero, come to life.

The time came in the course of the evening when she had danced with every other man there. A man was needed to complete the square dance set, but all the men she approached declined, glancing nervously at her imposing father. She looked around with a forlorn and helpless expression. The square dance caller waited patiently. Josef MacDonald folded his arms smugly. And then every mouth dropped aghast...

Slim approached, gallantly bowed, and took her by the hand. "Miss--would you do me the honor of this dance?" The words rang in his mind: she shore is a purty little thing--I do b'lieve I could marry her.

She smiled and curtseyed. The words rang in her mind: what a big handsome lug--I do b'lieve I could marry him.

The square dance caller belted out his instructions: honor your corner, honor your lady, grand right and left, take the lady home. Slim felt like he was walking on clouds. His heart tried to fly out of his chest. After five square dance sets was the the Virginia Reel--then the Two Step. They lost count of the dances.

Her gentle rose fragrance filled his nostrils. He was afraid his huge boot would stomp that little slippered foot flat, but she was as nimble as a butterfly. And the way the delicate little hand gripped his surprised him. There was surprising strength in those fragile looking little fingers--and calluses on the palm of her hand. This was a hard-working country gal!

The last dance of the night was a slow dance--a waltz. Slim hardly dared...

She looked so petite, as delicate as a snowflake. She was like a little glass figurine Mama kept, a gift from Papa on their anniversary. as he approached her to dance with her, he very cautiously put his right hand on her waist (and then nervously moved it up a couple inches) and with his left hand took her right hand as though it were as fragile as an autumn leaf, afraid that it would crumble.

She laughed, and it was the tinkling sound of wind chimes. "Don't worry, Hoss. I won't break." She pulled him close. He gulped. The lump in his throat felt as big as an apple. He could feel the eyes of Josef MacDonald staring hard, burning a hole in the back of his shirt.

Slim dared to broach conversation. He tried to sound casual. "Filly--what's yore name?"

Teasingly she shook her head. "You first, Slim."

He smiled broadly and almost laughed. "That's just it, Missy. Would you b'lieve I'm--Slim Possible?"

Her smile faded and she pouted. "Mister, I might be just a poor country girl, but at least have the decency not to make fun of me!"

Slim panicked. "Ma'am, I swear before the Almighty--my birth name is Samuel Nahum Possible! Folks call me Slim!"

The smile returned to her face and the twinkle to her eyes. "Honestly? You're not joshin?"

He was desperate. "Miss MacDonald, the Good Lord bear me witness! I meant no disrespect!"

Her smile was like--he didn't know what--a cheery fire? a sparkling diamond? a blazing sun? "I accept your apology, kind sir."

The fiddler and banjo player concluded the closing strains of the waltz. Oh, the keen ache. Slim felt himself leaving heaven and coming back to earth.

She curtseyed again. "Thank you, Hoss--Mr. Possible, for a lovely evening." Such a sweet dulcet voice.

Slim hesitated--and on the spur of the moment kissed her hand.

She hesitated--and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Good night--Slim," she whispered.

Slim felt himself totter, and a warm flush suffused him down to his toes.

Josef MacDonald glowered and waited by the open door. "C'mon, gal! We gotta git home! Chores in the mornin'!"

She started to walk out the door.

"Miss MacDonald?" called Slim pleadingly.

She turned and smiled teasingly again. "It's Ivymae--my name is Ivymae." And she left hastily after her father.

Slim stared transfixed. "Ivymae," he whispered, "The name of an angel--Ivymae."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Chapter 2

Slim, Ron-ster, Rufus, and Steve Barkin were created by Bob and Mark and belong to Disney. The bitterroot blossom belongs to the State of Montana. Ivymae's name and appearance belong to her. I changed the name of the village from Thornbush River to Thornbush Creek. Josef MacDonald, Ma Barkin, Thornbush Creek, Lakota Township, and Kimberly City are off the top of my head. For all I know, there might be a Thornbush Creek, or Lakota Township, Montana, or Kimberly City, Minnesota.

_**THE OTHER MRS. POSSIBLE**_

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

Winter in Montana was a slow time for rodeos--unless it was in a covered dome--but that was strictly in the Big City, not out in the back country.

Slim Possible spent the winter teaching science and math at the Lakota Township School; he had applied the autumn before.

The principal was agape when he saw the list of doctorates Slim had to his name. "Dr. Possible--we could hardly begin to afford you."

"Pshaw. Jest pay me what you would the feller who cuts the shrubbery."

Slim Possible was the most popular teacher in living memory at the school. He taught general science, chemistry, mathematics, physics, and wood shop. He coached the baseball team.

With sheets of plywood, a few old projection TV's and screens, he constructed a three dimensional multi-media room with surround-screen. Using existing stock video footage, students could set foot on the top of Mt. Everest--or a lunar crater--or the plains of Mars--or the deck of the Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic. There was nothing else like it in the country between Chicago and Denver

He bunked at Ma Barkin's Boarding House with a couple rodeo clowns, Ron-ster the Monster and Rufus the Doofus. He never learned their last names.

Ron-ster was a tall clumsy blonde kid with freckles. His act was to appear as old-time super-heroes and villains, like Fearless Ferret, and Zorpox. He would strike a heroic or villainous pose, only to have his pants fall down, showing his red / orange / pink / striped / polka-dotted boxer shorts.

Rufus, his best friend, was short and bald, with protruding front teeth. His act was to dress as a pink bunny and drive a miniature go-cart in circles around Zorpox. The kids loved it.

As the school was drawing to a close, Slim made it known he would be returning to the rodeo circuit.

The principal accepted Slim's decision with regret. "Dr. Possible, you've left your mark on this school and on the hearts on every student and staff member. Are you sure we couldn't prevail on you to continue with us, at least next fall?"

And Slim said what he usually said. "Sir, I'm jest a tumblin' tumbleweed, a saddle bum with a few PhD's."

But on the last Friday of the last full week of the school year, Slim was honored with a surprise assembly of the entire staff and student body of the Lakota Township School. He got a standing ovation, and he was too choked up to speak, except to say, "God bless y'all. You've made this year memorable for me, all of you."

And so it was in the spring when the bitterroot blossoms that the school year ended. Slim packed his gear and was all set to hit the road when he decided to visit the Saturday Night Social over at Thornbush Creek. There he danced with an angel named Ivymae, who wore a bitterroot blossom behind her ear.

After the dance, he could overhear Josef MacDonald and his daughter IvyMae talking as they walked to a pickup truck.

"Gal, what're you doin', makin' a spectacle of yorself, carryin' on with a perfect stranger?"

"Because he's perfect, Daddy. He's the handsomest and most gentlemanly stranger I've ever seen."

"Lord 'a' mercy, gal, yer gonna send yor poor father to an early grave. That drifter prob'ly left a broken heart in every town he's passed through."

When Slim got home, Ron-ster and Rufus were up with Ma Barkin, having pizza and beer. They were gathered around the dining room table. Ma was brewing up her Irish coffee. Slim would say that it was so strong that it would stand up on a man's tongue and march down his throat. It was "Sobriety In A Mug"--unless Ma fortified it with a dash of her Jamaican rum--and a man never knew which it would be until his first swig.

"Eve'ning, Doc," said Ma, "or is it mornin'?" Ma insisted on calling Slim "Doc" as soon as she found out he held multiple PhD's. And it caught on with the other boarders. "Care for a hand of cards, Doc? I cleaned out these two fools earlier tonight." Ma rarely lost at poker.

"Yeah," lamented Ron'ster, "Rufus 'n' me are dadburn poor 'til next payday agin'."

Slim politely declined. "Not tonight, folks."

Ma fixed her eye on Slim. "Doc? You've got a gleam in your eye."

"I'm a rich man, Ma. I'm walkin' on clouds."

Ma clapped her hands and chuckled. "You found someone that you're sweet on--right, Doc?"

Slim only smiled broadly "She's an angel, Ma. Straight from the Father's House."

Ma tried to pump Slim for information. "Cain't be here in Lakota Township. You went to that dance and pig roast."

Slim shrugged. "Yeah, I did exactly that."

"Ain't too many eligible young ladies over at Thornbush Creek. Who's this paragon of beauty? Chances are I'm acquainted with her kin."

Slim sighed. "Her name is Ivymae--Ivymae MacDonald."

Ma, Ron-ster, and Rufus all stared at each other.

Slim noticed the sudden silence. "Ma--boys--is it something I said?"

"You've taken a shine to the only daughter of Josephus Maccabeus Germanicus MacDonald?" Ma Barkin's jaw hung agape. Then she began to chuckle--and laugh--deep belly laughter.

Ron'ster and Rufus doubled over with laughter and slapped their knees. Then they pointed at Slim, slapped each other on the back, and broke out in fresh laughter.

Slim was mystified--and a little offended. "I assume all this hilarity is at my expense. Now will one of you good folks kindly enlighten me as to what is so dang funny?"

"Oh, Slim," she said, wiping the laugh tears from her eyes,"You've no idea of the trouble you're setting yourself up for. You're out to sea--in the middle of the ocean--in a little rowboat--with no paddle--an' a hurricane is bearin' down on you."

"In the middle of the ocean," chimed in Ronster.

"Plumb smack dab," chuckled Rufus.

"In a lil' ol' open rowboat," continued Ronster.

"With nary a paddle," added Rufus, "An' a bodacious hurricane blowin' up yer shorts."

Slim shook his head ruefully. "I'd like to thank you folks kindly. You shore know how to pluck up a feller's courage."

Ma blew her nose and tried to suppress her laughter. "Oh, Doc. We don't mean to make light of yer grand passion. But you've gotta be told exactly what yer about to encounter."

Slim folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. "I'm all ears, Ma."

Well, Josef MacDonald grew up...

_There was never a generation passed that didn't produce at least one male heir of the MacDonald line. They were hardy, rugged men of Scottish and German heritage, economically frugal, emotionally intimidating, and physically strapping. There was Josephus Maccabeus Valerian MacDonald, Josephus Maccabeus Vespasian MacDonald, and so forth. _

_The name Josephus indicated the foster father of Jesus Christ, St Joseph, the patron saint of working men, to symbolize robust toil of body, steadfast family loyalty of heart, and humble simplicity of soul. _

_The name Maccabeus indicated the Macabees, the Jewish family of brothers, who fought and died for their country and religion in the closing years of the Old Testament era--before the coming of Rome--and of Christ. _

_The Roman names indicated famous Roman generals and rulers, to symbolize honor, patriotism, love of freedom, and battle against tyranny. There was Josephus Maccabeus Octavian, Flavian, Tiberius, Brittanicus, and Horatio. Ivymae had a brother, Josephus Maccabeus Romulus, who died as an infant, several years before she was even born.  
_

"...He grew up like his father before him, Josephus Maccabeus Africanus MacDonald, hard-eyed and stern-browed. In his eyes, people were hardly worth the effort it took to call them by name. All that changed when he met Isabella Inez Britannia Yoshimora. There was a light in his eye and a spring in his step. But they lost their son. And then poor Isabella died and left a daughter, hardly five years old--Ivymae. He sets a powerful store by his daughter. She's the very apple of his eye, his pearl of great price. What little tenderness he has in his soul is reserved entirely for her."

"An' any man set on courtin' her has to contend with him," said Slim.

"Exactly, Doc," said Ma. "Every Josephus Maccabeus MacDonald has contended with the world to win his place in it." Ma was very quiet for a moment. "Doc--yer an educated man. Are you a wise man as well? D'you understand the mysteries?"

And Slim was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. "Ma, you remind me of what one of my philosophy professors taught me in college. Socrates taught his students with questions. He answered every question with another question. And one of the things he taught was the same that Newton and Einstein taught. Education teaches you how much you don't know."

"Then yer a wise man, Doc. Yer one of my boys. An' I see purpose in yer eyes. Lemme ask you--how set are you on winnin' Miss Ivymae?"

"She means everything to me, Ma."

Ma smiled. "My Lord, Doc, but you have it bad. Yer Ma is gonna show you how to do it. Tell me this: how do you see yerself?"

"You know what I keep sayin'. I'm a 'drifter, tumbling tumbleweed, a saddle bum with a few PhD's'."

"An' if yer willin' to win Miss Ivymae's heart and old Josef's blessing on seeking her hand in holy matrimony, are you willin' to contend for it? To put down roots an' settle in?"

"As God is my Witness, Ma."

"Then listen well, son. If you want to win the respect of Josef MacDonald, you have to know what it is he values almost as much as his daughter--what every MacDonald has valued as far back as people can remember--God's earth and His children on the earth, the animals. Josef has tested every man who has sought his daughter's hand. Like a king in a fairy tale, he sets before them a task--the same task his father set before him. Can a man handle the land? He treats them as a hired man."

"To see if they're up to the challenge--like Jacob in the Good Book--he worked for Laban for fourteen years to marry Rachel."

"You know yer Bible, Doc. That's more than a lotta people can say. Old Josef goes through hired men like a fire consumes prairie grass during a drought. He treats 'em like that pipe of his. He clamps his teeth down on their stern and sets fire to their head. An' that spread of his--the Lazy C Ranch--it's 'way too big fer him 'n' his daughter--even if they do work like beavers dammin' up a stream."

"So I become like a hired man."

"Thar's a small room off'n the main house--whar the hired man--or men--bunk--fergit yer doctorates an' degrees, Doc. Burn yer bridges behind ya."

From there, the mood of the night became much more reflective.

Ron-ster remembered a girl he used to know back east, in Kimberly, Minnesota. She was the daughter of a physician and a physicist, a beauty queen, class valedictorian, and black belt martial artist. Ron-ster considered her utterly out of his league, despite Rufus' encouragement.

"Boys, I ain't never lacked for pleasant company, if you take my meanin'. Many a young buck has ridden this ol' carcass."

And the room echoed with raucous chuckles.

But Ma became wistful. "I got me a nephew down in Colorado--Middleburg, I think. Steve by name--Steve Barkin. He's served his country in the Marines, and now he's a teacher--like you, Doc. I couldn't be prouder of him if he was the fruit of my very loins. But I ain't never met that Someone Special. I never got hitched an' had my own young 'uns. An' now, in my sunset years, I look back an' wonder what might 'a' been--." She dabbed her eyes and shook her finger at her tenants. "You boys pay heed to yer Ma. Don't be lookin' back in yer sunset years an' wonder what might 'a' been. If the Good Lord brings someone across yer path--someone special--someone decent an' kind--don't you let the grass grow under yer feet. You take that gal an' love her like yer life depended on it."

And so Slim packed up his meager possessions and checked out of Ma Barkin's boarding house. Both Ron-ster and Rufus blew their noses and dabbed their eyes. Ma gave Slim a hug that squished the air out of him and put a crease in his backbone. She also gave him a last piece of advice.

"That old tyrant will be impressed if you can outwork him without keelin' over from a heart attack. But a lady--her you woo with a thing of beauty."

"I had that very thing in mind, Ma. But I'm too poor for jewelry, and there's no florist open on Sunday night here in Lakota Township."

"Never let it be said yer Ma didn't strew her boy's path to love with rose petals." Ma cut one of her own long-stem roses.

"Ma!" said Slim, shocked. "Them's yer prize roses!"

"An' I won't miss it--not if it can be used to win that gal's heart."

And so at the crack of dawn, Slim drove out to the Lazy C Ranch.

Slim held the rose behind his back and knocked the great brass door knocker. He heard two voices inside.

"Answer the door, would you, girl? Consarn it, what sorta fool comes callin' at breakfast time?" It was the gruff voice of Josef MacDonald.

"Can you clear the table, Daddy? I have to get ready fer school." It was the melodic voice of Ivymae MacDonald.

Slim grinned. What sorta fool? A fool in love, most likely. He wondered. Would she really be as beautiful as he remembered?

The door swung open, and...

After helping Daddy with chores before sunrise, and helping make breakfast, Ivymae had taken a quick shower while he cleared the table and washed the dishes. She hardly gave a thought as to who might be at the door. Her mind was full of the stranger--Hoss--Slim. Every waking moment. She had spent the last two nights dreaming of being held once again in those strong arms. Daytime was full of daydreams. Would she ever see him again? Or was Daddy right? Was Mr. Slim Possible a drifter who left a broken heart in every town he visited?

Ivymae opened the door and...

There she stood, in her fuzzy pink bathrobe. Her feet were bare and her hair was wrapped in a towel. Slim smiled.

She found herself at eye level with a plaid flannel work shirt. Her eyes traveled up--and up--gulp. The man of her dreams stood before her, her son of the plains, bigger than life.

When she saw him, her eyes went wide with shock. She uttered a little scream. _"Eeek!"_ And she promptly slammed the door.

Slim grinned even wider. Yep. Even in the fuzzy pink robe, hair dripping wet, not a speck of make-up on her face, she was as lovely as--or lovelier than--he remembered.

The door opened a crack and the deep brown eyes peered through. "Hoss!" She asked in a panicked whisper. "What're you _doin' _here?"

Slim had wondered two things. How would he address her when he saw her? Ivymae? Miss MacDonald? Ma'am? And did she feel about him the way he felt about her? The name she called him--the same name as when they were dancing together--answered both questions.

"Top o' the mornin', Filly. Shore is a fine day fer callin' on a purty gal like yerself."

"Please, Hoss," she begged, If you have any regard for me, don't call me that in front of Daddy!"

Any regard for her? He would charge a runaway herd of cattle for her sake, were she but to ask. "Ma'am, I would never dream of bringin' disrespect on a man's daughter in her father's eyes." He showed her the rose.

Her brown eyes danced and her cheeks blushed as crimson as the blossom. "Mr. Samuel Nahum, I do believe you mean what you say," she said quietly, with all the solemnity of a marriage vow.

The speaking of his birth name had a profound effect on Slim. "Miss Ivymae, with all my heart," he said with equal solemnity.

Slim extended his hand to give Ivymae the rose, and she reached up to take it. Their fingers touched...

For the rest of their lives together, they would look back on this moment and speak of it. It happened in the blink of an eye, the breath of a sigh, the tick of a clock. Whatever would take place from that moment--the courtship, the proposal, the engagement, the wedding--would be formality. Their destiny together was sealed--.

"Gal, what're you doin'? Tellin' some stranger yer life story?" grumbled her father Josef MacDonald from another room in the house.

--Their hearts were already bound.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


End file.
